


Gingerbread Mansions

by Chad Warwick (FanficbyLee)



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficbyLee/pseuds/Chad%20Warwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chad and Patrick's first Christmas together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gingerbread Mansions

Few people understand the need for precision and the benefits of a good foundation when building a house. You have to prepare the ground. You have to make sure that the boards are cut to the correct size. You have to be sure that you have all the right tools and equipment to bring all of those pieces together to create a home that will stand for decades to come. 

As I looked at the sheets of cooled gingerbread that were spread over the kitchen island, I made certain that I had the right assortment of knives, measuring tape, protractors, and straight edges to cut each piece to the exact specifications to match the house. The patterns were drawn out on graph paper that I’d taped together to make the pieces large enough. It would be a daunting task, but I was determined to create the mirror image of our house in gingerbread. 

I drew my lip between my teeth as I started to cut the walls of the house out of the gingerbread. I carefully brushed away the build up of crumbs with a pastry brush. I couldn’t allow anything to jar my knife and make the cut crooked. There were extra sheets of cookie of course, but that didn’t mean I could allow myself to be careless. 

Patrick and I were having our first Christmas together in our first house. Most of the house was still a mess except for the kitchen, our upstairs bathroom and our bedroom. The rest was a mess of biblical proportions. I don’t know how the previous owners could have let the house fall into ruin the way that they had. It had been empty and abandoned during the late 70s, and so much damage had been done to it then that it was criminal. Sadly the next few owners hadn’t bothered to restore. Instead they painted and spackled over the incredible chestnut paneling and more. It was a wonder that I could walk upright as tired as I was from scraping and refinishing. 

We had five usable rooms if I counted the dining room where we’d put our sofa and TV. The living room was a disaster, and it would be quite awhile before we could snuggle there in front of the fire. Hell there wasn’t a fireplace in the house that was up to code, which was a shame. 

I had our stockings hanging from the mantle in the front room. I couldn’t wait to fill Patrick’s with goodies. We were trying to be frugal with gifts. We couldn’t give each other anything that didn’t fit in the stocking or that cost more than $200. It was a good thing too considering how much I was spending on the restoration, and as far as I was concerned the decorations were part of that restoration. Our first Christmas had to be perfect.

The tree was in the front room window. The rest of the room might be inhabitable, but there was no place else to display our tree. It was an eight foot tall Douglas fir, covered from top to bottom in antique or good reproduction ornaments that fit in with the Victorian theme that the house deserved. I loved our tree. It was a pillar of cheer and beauty in a drab and dismal place. 

With a straight edge laid over the top of the pattern I went to work cutting the angled pieces that would fit together to make the roof of the tower. It was imperative that the sections fit perfectly. I wasn’t one of those bakers who would cheat and use cardboard to brace or replace the cookie. The third section when I heard a voice behind me.

“Shit!” The blade sliced into the tip of my finger. I jerked and bright red blood dripped onto the cookie, staining it crimson, and making it unusable. I pulled back from the island, sucking my bleeding finger to keep anymore blood from getting on the parts. The last thing I needed was to taint the icing. 

If it was Addie come to tell me I was going to die once again, I might have to kill her. I tried to be tolerant, but she was wearing on my nerves the way she kept showing up. Patrick thought we should walk around naked, so that she’d run away and never come back. But then Pat thought walking around naked was a good idea in general. 

With my finger still in my mouth, I turned fully expecting to find Addie or Constance twiddling about like they had every right to be in my house, but it wasn’t them. It was an older lady with dark red hair and a bad glass eye. She was dressed in a drab coat, and she had a tight smile on her face. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m Moira. I’m the housekeeper,” she told me with a matter of fact tone of voice like I was insane to wonder who she was. Then she reached for a few paper towels and took my hand in hers, leading me to the sink. She flipped on the hot water. I hissed when the water hit the cut, but she was holding too tight for me to pull away. We watched as the blood swirled down the drain into oblivion.

“I don’t have a housekeeper, Moira. Did Patrick hire you?” She got more paper towel to dry off my finger and then frowned. I knew what she was looking for. “The first aid kit is under the sink.” 

“You’d be surprised how many people don’t think to keep it nearby. The kitchen is the number one place for accidents in the household,” she told me as she took a good look at my finger, or as good as she could with the one good eye. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” 

“My boyfriend would kill me if I didn’t keep a kit down here. He’s forever telling me to be careful when I’m cooking or doing carpentry.” I watched as she pulled out the perfect sized bandage and wrapped it tightly around my finger. “I’m Chad, by the way, Chad Warwick. We haven’t lived here very long, so that’s why I’m surprised to see you.” 

“I was the housekeeper here before.” She started walking around the kitchen, taking in the improvements that I’d made. She nodded approvingly at the stove and the cabinets. “You’ve done a lovely job on this kitchen, Mr. Warwick. I promise that my rates are very reasonable. I’m certain that you’re quite exhausted after working on the restoration, and that it would help to have someone to see to day to day cleaning. I can also help cook if you need me to.” 

“I am dead on my feet most days.” I had to agree with her. “Wallpaper doesn’t come down as easily as it goes up, and I’m trying so hard to have a good Christmas. It’s our first together.” 

“And if you were less tired, you might injure yourself less.” Moira touched a bruise on the back of my wrist that I’d gotten when I fell off the ladder. My arm still hurt, and Patrick had insisted on taking me for an x-ray to see if it was broken, which thankfully it wasn’t. 

“That was me being stupid. I thought I heard something in the attic, so I went up a ladder to put some traps up there. The ladder wasn’t as stable as I thought it was.” I needed to get some of those pull down steps to go up there. It was too nice of a storage space to let it go to waste. “I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck. Patrick was livid. He’s an EMT. He hates it when I hurt myself.” 

“That’s why you shouldn’t be in this big house all alone.” She went on to tell me her rates and the days she was willing to work.

“There are times when it gets very lonely.” And creepy. “To be here when Pat’s at work. His schedule is very flexible, days one week, and then nights the next. I don’t think I’ll need you more than a couple of days a week. Would that be all right?” I was relieved when she said that would be OK. I didn’t want to admit that I’d had a few scares where I thought I saw shadows move or that I heard voices. Patrick would tease me for eternity if I told him that I thought the house was haunted. 

“That would be fine. Why don’t I help you today?” Moira didn’t wait for me to say a thing. She slipped off her coat, revealing a very traditional maid’s uniform, and then started cleaning up the small mess I’d left in the kitchen near the sink for my preparations. “What are you making?” 

“I’m making a gingerbread version of the house. I want Patrick to see what it can be when I’m done sort of. Of course the real house won’t have candy trimmings. It’s going to be a miniature winter wonderland.” Moira gave me a sad smile as I picked off and threw away the pieces that I’d bled on. “Good thing I made so much extra. I’m a little anal retentive about making things just right. Hope that doesn’t bother you too much.” 

“I think I’ll be fine, Mr. Warwick.”


End file.
